


In Sickness and in Health

by TheKats



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cheesy title, I am awkward, I liked either possibility, John Watson Takes Care of Sherlock Holmes, John is a Very Good Doctor, Sherlock got the flu, Sick Character, Then again, Very fluffy, could possibly be seen as johnlock, i guess, is up to you though, it's really hard to tag this without sounding awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6456955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKats/pseuds/TheKats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I hate to say 'I told you so'." is not a sentence John would choose to use right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness and in Health

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't the fic I planned to write next, but seeing as I'm sick with the flu and it has been in the back of my mind for a long time now, I thought I'd take my boredom and suffering to write down my pain first hand.   
> Yeah, ok, I'm exaggerating a bit. It's really not that bad. It was horrible yesterday (probably the peak), but it's dissipating now, so I'm able to do /some/ work.  
> Honestly, I went 19 years and passed every wave of the flu around me without catching it. Now I'm the only one I know who has it..   
> Oh, well! At least I got to write something.
> 
> Enjoy!

A deep, graceful moan erupted from the couch. “I'm dying. John, I'm dying.”  
  
“It's just the flu, Sherlock, you'll be fine.” John said, unimpressed, as he put down the now filled glass of apple juice on the coffee table.  
  
“Isn't there something about dehydration?”  
  
“That's small children and old people, Sherlock, you are neither. And even if – we'll just have to keep you hydrated, hm? Drink.” John said, once he'd closed the bottle and held out the glass to his friend.  
  
Sherlock groaned as he sat up, for show, John knew. Still, he couldn't not feel a little bit of pity for him as he reached for the glass. His skin was even paler than usual, almost translucent, which didn't help. Another dramatic sigh and Sherlock sank back into the position of a slowly dying drama queen. “How long will this last?” he asked with a deeply seared annoyance and impatience.  
  
“Two to three days? Depends on your general health a bit. Seeing as you're usually quite healthy, aside from an obvious lack of nutrition,” John said with a raised eyebrow, “you should be fine within that timespan.” he concluded as he sat down on the table to search something from his little med-kit. “Let me take your temperature.”  
Sherlock briefly pinched his face together in a bitter grimace, but opened his mouth nonetheless, folding back his tongue and pointedly avoiding to look at John.  
The doctor gently slid the thermometer underneath the bent muscle and Sherlock closed his mouth around it. Once the little thing beeped, Sherlock hurriedly pulled his head back and John regarded the numbers.

“Alright, temperature is normal. How's the head?”

 

“Mild headache.” Sherlock simply said, pulling a blanket over himself.  
  
“Alright. Do you _want_ to take something for that?”  
  
“No.” came the reply as the brunet turned to his side, facing the back of the sofa.  
  
John sighed and went to clean the thermometer to put it back into the bag. After stashing it all away, John returned to the living room and sat down in his chair, looking over at his mad – sick – detective. After a moment, the man started shivering and, because Sherlock wouldn't just tell him, he asked him if he was cold. A quiet 'yes', which, endearingly, sounded almost like a confession, and John was up again, retrieving another blanket from Sherlock's room. Laying it over him, he nudged at his legs a little. “Budge.”  
  
Sherlock frowned at the gentle request. “I'm contagious.”  
  
“You're contagious whether or not I touch you. You're probably all over the flat already, so whatever. Besides, there's worse than this.”  
  
Sherlock huffed at that. “Speak for yourself!” he complained while drawing in his legs for John to sit down.  
  
John chuckled a little and grabbed his ankles to lay his calves on his own thighs. He began to massage them a little, enjoying how Sherlock quickly relaxed under his touch. “Have you never had the flu before?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Really? How did you manage to go without the flu for over 30 years?!” John asked in astonishment.  
  
Sherlock shrugged. “I just never caught it. Don't know how I did now.”  
  
“I did tell you not to touch all that stuff at Miller's 'lab'. Looked dubious.”  
  
“Really. You're going to take my suffering for a cheap shot at being a know-it-all?”  
  
“No, and don't even try to make me feel guilty. I told you and you didn't listen and now you've got the flu. Serves you right.”  
  
“Yes, yes. You're the best and wisest doctor all around. Give me my juice.”  
  
John laughed as he handed Sherlock his glass. He petted his head while he sat upright, taking the glass back to place it on the table again when Sherlock was done drinking. The brunet changed his position to lay his head in John's lap, facing him. He started plucking at the wool on John's jumper while John buried his hand in his messy curls. “Bored?”  
  
“A bit.”  
  
“You should try to sleep.”  
  
“I know.” he said, a small pout on his face.  
  
“D'you want me to sing you to sleep?”  
  
“God, no!” Sherlock chuckled and John joined him in laughing for a bit.  
  
“Do you want something to help you fall asleep?”  
  
Sherlock shook his head lightly. “No.”  
  
“ _Any_ way I can help?”  
  
The brunet seemed to contemplate that for a moment, sighing deeply. “Just keep talking.”

 


End file.
